Page 97 of The Wedding Menu

No flowers.

See you soon.

He’s going to show up with flowers, isn’t he?

Shaking my head, I dangle two different necklaces in my hands. I haven’t repeated the phrasejust a friendly dateas many times in… I’ve never said it before this week, actually. But I’ve been saying it a lot since then.

I wonder what kind of date Ian has planned. He’s been instructed not to overdo it, to keep it casual and nonromantic, so I expect a candlelit dinner and stargazing.

With my coat on, I step out the door, and a black car pulls over. Ian gets out, shuts the door, then turns to me and jerks his head back. Holding a hand to his heart, he dramatically groans. “Oh, beautiful Amelie.”

“Deceitful Ian,” I say as he approaches me. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a rusty-orange sweater that looks softer than most pillows, and a black coat. You know what magazines would call that? Effortlessly gorgeous.

“How do you feel about raisins?”

My brows furrow. “Raisins? I… don’t love them.”

“Yeah? Then how about a date?” he quips.

My shoulders shake with laughter as I point at him. “Good one, good one.”

“Liked it?”

“Perfectly cheesy.”

He grins as his eyes roam down my body. “Did you do all that for me?”

“Well, this is a friendly date, after all.”

“Blue. My favorite color.” He smiles brightly. “And those red lips… I was right, red suits you even better than pink.”

I tuck some hair behind my ear, uncomfortable at the implication that I’ve done any of it for him. “I—I didn’t remember.”

“Didn’t you?”

When I shake my head, he tilts his. “Huh.” Then he gestures toward his car. “Are you ready for the most romantic night of your life?”

“Ian…” I warn, shoulders slumped and arms crossed over my stomach.

“I’m messing with you, Amelie.”

“You said—”

“The most casual date ever, I swear,” he says, raising his hands in defeat. “A burping contest and some axe throwing.”

“Sounds delightful.” I take the hand he offers me as he curtsies, then he theatrically walks me to the car, holding my hand up daintily, and opens the door.

“What?” I ask as he slides in and turns the engine on, a smug smile on his face. He waves me off, and I pinch his forearm. “Come on! What is it?”

“Nothing. Just—you know I don’t like perfume. When we met at the Quinns’ wedding and you weren’t expecting me, you had some on. Today you don’t.”

Oh, I… I must have forgotten.

As we walk across the large square, I throw a look at Ian. “Why are we here?”

He studies the mall in front of us with a thoughtful expression as a few people walk by. “You’ll see.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, alarmed as I step beside him. “Malls are closed at night.”

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